


The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Tango Series [3]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: Crack, F/M, Falling In Love, Food, Het, Relationship Advice, Romantic Comedy, Scheming, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack goes on the hunt. Third in a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game

He had severely underestimated Lemon. Not only had her neurotic paranoia not driven her back into his office three days after the sex, she seemed aware of the reverse psychology he had been using to reel her in, complete with the red herrings of truth mixed in.

Jack Donaghy had been played by the prey. And it turned him on.

Of course, Lemon could simply not be interested. The thought had occurred to him, until he’d seen inappropriate whatever guy. Watching that ineffectual fop Josh try to have half of his charisma had made it clear that Liz Lemon had found their moment to be as intriguing as Jack himself had.

Not that he could be seen in public with her. She was a writer. She was over thirty. She had absolutely no sense of style. But Jack meant to plumb the secret allure of Liz Lemon again. And soon.

“Good morning, Mr. Donaghy,” Kenneth said cheerfully. “How are you today?”

“Deeply perplexed, Kenneth,” Jack said. “Have you ever been played, and found it irresistibly hot? Explosively hot, even?”

“Well, Mr. Donaghy, one time my brother and I were playing Operation and the game board malfunctioned and it exploded, but that’s probably not what you mean,” Kenneth replied, smiling.

“No, that’s not what I mean at all. Is Miss Lemon in yet?” Jack asked. He could have slapped himself; trusting any sort of personnel tracking to Kenneth was unpredictable, and Lemon was onto the pursuit. She was certain to ask Kenneth if he’d asked, and then she would know.

“Yes, sir, but I think she and everyone else are having their sleepy time because they’re–” and Kenneth’s voice dropped to a stage whisper, “ _Hung over._ ”

Of course. “Well. In half an hour, I order you to throw buckets of water on them and tell them that I don’t pay for siestas,” Jack said. “This isn’t _La France._ ”

There. He was asserting his power. And Lemon’s t-shirt would end up wet when she came to confront him about the ridiculous misuse of his power.

“Down, stallion, down,” Jack told himself. “Or the hunter will get captured by the game. Carry on, Kenneth.”

* * *

He was on his third bag of Trader Joe’s Pirate Booty. She still hadn’t come up to his office. She knew he’d done it to get a rise out of her.

Blast. “Jonathan,” he called out. “I need dip.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Donaghy, sir,” Jonathan said. There was a pause. “Oh, _thank god_ you’re here.”

“I need to see him,” Lemon’s voice snarled.

“Right away,” Jonathan said, trotting into his office. “Liz Lemon is here to see you.”

_Is she wet?_ Jack wanted to ask. “Tell her I’m busy.”

“Tell him I will kick his Irish ass if he doesn’t let me in,” Liz called. “Just like I kicked Kenneth’s.”

“Lemon, I’m busy,” Jack said, getting up and walking to where she was standing, arms folded and eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“Kenneth threw a bucket of water on my head,” Liz said. “And said that this wasn’t France. And then told me you told him to do it when I choked him with his tie.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do,” Jack said smoothly. “Please, come in.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh my god,” she said. “You did this to lure me up into your clutches.”

“I did it because your lovable pack of slackers forget this is a business, not a convenient alley to sleep it off in,” Jack replied, standing his ground. She was adorable when angry and suspicious. Also, there was a droplet on her nose that he wanted to lick off.

“No,” Liz said, putting her hands on her hips. “I know your moves, Jack. First you’ll want me to come in and offer me…ooh, is that Pirate Booty?”

“Fruity Booty,” Jack said suavely, stepping aside. “Jonathan is bringing dip.”

“I haven’t had Fruity Booty,” Lemon said, walking into the office. _Donaghy, you’ve still got it._ “Wait a minute. Oh my god, I almost fell for your plan AGAIN. Damn it.”

Damn. “What plan?” Jack asked nonchalantly. “Oh, yes. The paranoid notion you’ve concocted that I’m hell-bent on seducing you.”

Liz snorted. “It’s not paranoid if you are so trying,” she said. “Also, it’s not that you’re bent on seducing me. You want me to think this is my idea.”

Damn her powers of insight. Jack respected her natural tenacity, but it made it far more difficult to suggest she borrow his NBC robe while her wet clothes were sent out to be dried.

Though Lemon was still munching his Booty with aplomb, so the battle wasn’t completely lost.

“So you had something to say to me?” Jack inquired casually.

“Don’t throw water on my staff,” Liz replied. “And stop trying to get in my pants.”

“Stop letting your staff nap on my dime,” Jack replied. “And stop flattering yourself. I have no interest in your pants or what’s in them.”

“Oh, whatever,” she snapped. “I call shenanigans. You threw water on me. Next to pulling my braids, that’s like, the universal signal that you like me.”

Ah, she’d walked into that one. “Of course I like you, Lemon,” he said innocently. “It does not follow, however, that I have any interest in divesting you of those Kmart jeans, except as a kindly mentor with your best interests at heart.”

“Great. As long as we understand each other,” Liz said. Damn her newfound ability to ignore his stings. Before recent events, she would have responded to the jeans crack by taking them off. It was always much easier to seduce a woman who wasn’t wearing pants. “Now I have to figure out a way to explain to my writers why we’re all wet without explaining that you like, like me.”

The _other writers._ Of course. Jack nodded dismissively, trying to hide his glee. She had unconsciously delivered herself back into his hands.

The game was afoot.

* * *

“So there’s something in the Six Sigma guidebook that says water cures hangovers?” the bizarre one, Frank, asked acerbically when Jack wandered onto TGS’s set. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. Everyone knows two egg yolks and Tabasco is the only way to cure a hangover.”

“No, that’s all nonsense. I threw water on you to get Lemon’s knickers in a twist,” Jack said, pretending distraction.

“Well, yeah, that’s because you like, _like her,_ ” Frank said. Jack froze in terror for a moment before the buffoon burst into laughter. “Sorry. Just yanking your chain. I heard you once dated Beyonce, though.”

“Yes, lovely woman, but she and Jay-Z are so perfect together that I couldn’t bear to destroy their relationship,” Jack said, scanning the horizon. “I have a question for you, Frank.”

“Shoot,” Frank said.

“What would you do if you were attracted to a woman who was completely out of your range of experience?” he asked. “For example, if you were interested in a country-club Republican who didn’t immediately put a restraining order on you.”

Frank paused. “I guess…wait, who’s out of _your_ league?” he asked.

“I didn’t say she was out of my league,” Jack said, annoyed. “I said she was out of my experience.”

“Well, is she into you?” Frank asked. “Cuz if she is, the cash and power will reel her in.”

Clearly, this idiot knew nothing and couldn’t take a hint. He would have to…

“Hey, Jenna!” Frank shouted suddenly. “Donaghy wants to know how to land a girl who doesn’t want his money.”

Jenna. Ah, yes. “You have woman trouble?” she asked. “Because Liz was just telling me about the time you went out with Beyonce and how annoying it is that you have to flaunt the impossible perfection of your girl-toys.”

“I’ve found a challenge,” Jack said, suddenly heartened. “Lemon was talking about me?”

“Well, she was telling me about why you threw water on the writers,” Jenna said, fluttering her mascara-caked eyelashes. “Is GE really adopting a cold-water policy to go carbon neutral by 2015?”

“No,” Jack said. “Let me ask you a question, Jenna. If I wanted to have a torrid secret affair with you, would you say yes?”

“Would you take me on secret dates in the Town Car?” Jenna asked, perking up.

“Of course not,” Jack said. “Limousine drivers are the source of ninety percent of all gossip fed to the Post.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I guess,” Jenna said. “Do you want to have a secret affair with me? I’ll kill Frank if you need me to.”

“No, not even a little,” Jack said, baffled. It wasn’t Lemon’s weirdo status that was causing her to play this little game with him, obviously. “This is maddening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to unravel the mystery that is woman.”

“Good luck with that,” Frank said. “Maybe you should ask Tracy. He’s pretty good with chicks.”

* * *

He was going to Tracy Jordan for advice. Truly, the universe was askew.

“Hey, Jackie D!” Tracy greeted him. “I heard you got some problems with the ladies.”

“Where’d you hear that, Tracy? Is Lemon spreading gossip?” Jack asked, shaking his head. Was there no end to her diabolical genius?

“Naw, naw, Dot-Com heard it from my boy Kenneth who heard it from Jonathan,” Tracy said. “Liz Lemon would never spread gossip about you. She’s your girl.”

_If only._

“Tracy, I have a question for you,” Jack said. “Have you ever wanted a woman who knew you wanted her?”

“Only all the time,” Tracy said. “I don’t see the problem, Donaghy.”

“The problem, Tray, is that she’s playing hard to get and has the advantage, because she knows I’m interested,” Jack said.

“Oh,” Tracy said. “Well, I ain’t never had a problem like that, cuz I always got another shortie ready to make her jealous. Like this one time, there was this tight exotic dancer who was grinding up on me, and I could tell she wanted me to spot her a twenty, but I only had ten…”

As Tracy rambled on about how he was scammed by a stripper and her friend, Jack realized that Lemon would not be impressed by the sudden appearance of, say, Megan McArdle in the office. No, this was the rare bird, the kind Bianca had been in the beginning. The curious loathing Lemon had for his natural assets, such as his money, grooming, position, and understanding of the financial markets were half the reason she was drawn to him and he her.

They would have to bond over something. And then the magnetism would overcome the loathing temporarily, a constant dance of repulsion and attraction.

The sex was going to be phenomenal.

“So who’s the lady giving you such fits, Jackie D?” Tracy asked, waking Jack from his reverie.

“I can’t reveal that information,” Jack said. “But thank you, Tracy. You’ve given me an idea of how to woo her into my arms. But first, I need ammunition. Where’s the nearest deli or hot dog guy?”

Grizz spoke up. “Miss Lemon likes Crazy Raheed, two blocks over,” he said. “Get the extra relish, and three more hot dogs than you think you need. She’s a big eater.”

Jack stared at him. Dot-Com elbowed his fellow entourage member.

“Yo, we were gonna keep it quiet,” he said. “What did we say about encouraging office romance?”

“I know, but I hate to see a man stymied when he’s all passionate about a lady,” Grizz said. “You go get yourself a piece of that, Mr. Donaghy.”

“Thank you, Grizz. Can you convince Tracy he didn’t hear our exchange?” Jack asked, looking at the man worriedly. Given Tracy’s eccentricities, he’d probably announce that Jack and Liz were using hot dogs as sexual aids on national television.

“What didn’t I hear?” Tracy asked. “Are you arranging to put me back in the movies?”

“It’s done, Mr. D,” Dot-Com assured him.

Feeling as though he were drunk, Jack saluted the Jordan entourage and dashed into the hallway. He needed to get hot dogs. Many, many hot dogs.

* * *

Liz was waiting in his office. She was eating the Fruity Booty, glowering him with her peculiar intensity. Jonathan must have let her in.

“Did you enjoy the extra relish?” Jack inquired mildly.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Are you trying to drive me out of my mind? One minute, you throw water on me, and then you buy my entire writer’s room hot dogs. Not just any hot dogs, the ones Raheed makes, which means you know things I like. You promised it wasn’t going to get weird.”

“I lied,” Jack said magnificently. “Nothing that involves us and our spectacular chemistry can be not weird, Lemon. I admit, I’ve been trying to lure you back since our encounter, and I’ve finally hit a wall.”

“So it _was_ better than middling,” she said snippishly. “I knew it.”

Was that what stuck in her craw? “While of Irish descent myself, I have a great affinity for the old Anglo-Saxon dictum to praise no day until it’s done, Lemon,” Jack said. “And all the implications that, ah, implies.”

“Also, you didn’t want to say you liked me, because rich powerful guys like you don’t say that to writers,” Liz added, folding her arms. Of course, her tedious insecurity about her charms; Jack always forgot Liz’s inferiority complex in that regard. “That way you could pretend it was all my fault.”

“And what about you?” Jack asked.

“What about me? I got drenched and jerked around,” Liz said.

“No, no, Elizabeth,” Jack said. “I mean your complete inability to admit that you like me, because that doesn’t fit your persona.”

Her eyes narrowed and her spine stiffened. Direct hit. “That’s crazy talk,” she said.

“Is it? Consider the smoking horror that is your personal life,” Jack said, moving into that nebulous boundary known as personal space. “You date men. Perfectly nice, acceptable men. Somehow, you find fatal flaws in all of them. Flaws that justify your single existence and avoid the hidden truth.”

She was electrified. Furious, of course; the sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable. But Liz Lemon wanted to hear more, and she was half turned-on despite herself.

“Yeah? What hidden truth is that?” she asked breathlessly.

“You find them all boring,” Jack said. “You know what you’re supposed to want. Some spineless white-collar professional who shares the housework, supports your right to subcontract child-care while feigning feminist guilt about it, and enjoys milquetoast intercourse twice a week while ignoring creeping middle-aged spread. And of course, he likes to do that most inane of romantic acts, _cuddle._ ”

Liz gasped like he’d speared her in the heart. Really, he didn’t blame her. It was an impressive monologue. He’d be surprised if it didn’t make it into next week’s show, whatever the outcome.

“And that’s not what I want, I guess,” she said angrily. “What I _really_ want is what, to be ordered around by an insufferable prick like you who thinks a woman’s place is in the kitchen getting him a truffle sandwich?”

“Oh, do you hear yourself when you come up with your pathetic liberal stereotypes?” Jack asked. “You are a valuable asset in my organization as a working professional, while I doubt that you’d know how to cook a truffle sandwich. No, Elizabeth, what I think you want is a challenge. Someone who, in your phrasing, drives you out of your mind, who forces all of your self-sabotaging narratives into the light of day, who makes you so angry that you slap his face and then shove him against a wall.”

Her eyes went enormous as all the anger drained out of her. “Oh, my god, that was simultaneously the hottest and meanest thing anyone has ever said about me,” she whispered, blushing. “I _hate_ you.”

Jack smirked. He had earned the smirk. “Go ahead,” he said. “You know you want to do it.”

Liz punched him in the jaw and then kissed him equally hard, practically seizing him by the hair as she did it. So there was a forceful little vixen beneath the self-denigrating neurotic who did, in fact, know what she wanted. Of course there was.

“This doesn’t make anything any less weird,” she said softly. “Or wrong.”

“But you liked it,” Jack said.

“Yeah, I did,” Liz said. She leaned forward again and kissed him. Without quite so much pain involved. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not, um, terribly,” Jack said, rubbing his face ruefully. “Though a slap is more customary.”

“Screw that,” Liz said, grabbing him again. “Oh, forget it. Screw me.”

“Gladly,” Jack said.

 


End file.
